


I will shelter you

by biblionerd07



Series: Acre of Land [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, SO MUCH FLUFF, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas gets sick for the first time as a human, all Dean wants to do is take care of him.  And if that includes cuddles, well...Dean doesn't run away from a job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will shelter you

Castiel remembers some things from the first time he was human. He remembers he needs to eat and keep hydrated. He remembers about going to the bathroom. He remembers he needs to shower and brush his teeth and wash his clothes. But, he confides in Dean, he’d forgotten how much everything _feels_. Wind can slice through you straight down to your bones. Hunger pains can cramp your stomach so badly you have to hunch until you can find food. And clothes are constantly _there_ against your skin. Cas only wears the softest fabrics and cuts every tag out of his shirts.

Dean tries to be considerate. He makes sure there’s always a blanket in the Impala now, because Cas seems to get cold easier than he and Sam do. He keeps his music at a reasonable volume, because Cas’s ear drums don’t have thirty years of damage to insulate them. He keeps his hands light when he claps Cas on the back.

Ghosts don’t handle Cas with the same care. Dean hears the whoosh of Cas’s lungs losing air when he hits the wall. “Cas!” Dean yells, not keeping his voice down because he’s worried and there’s a ghost shrieking at them. Then the ghost disappears, so Sam must’ve torched the bones. Dean crouches at Cas’s side and helps him sit up.

“Breathe, buddy, come on.”

“Dean, it hurts.” Cas gasps. His eyes look utterly betrayed at his own body.

“I know; I’m sorry it hurts.” Dean suddenly feels like he’s the one who got the wind knocked out of him, because Cas isn’t _supposed_ to hurt. Cas is supposed to be indestructible, and Dean knows he isn’t—really, he wasn’t even before, but he especially isn’t now—but Dean wishes he was.

So Dean blames all that for what happens when Cas gets a cold.

Sam goes to some big fancy library two towns over and says he’s going to be gone the whole weekend. He gives Dean a Look when he says this—a Look that Dean can tell is supposed to be significant in some way, but that Dean doesn’t understand. When Dean first got his humanity back, Sam hoped it would make him want to talk about his feelings. Dean still has no idea why Sam would think that. Obviously, it hadn’t happened. So Dean thinks the Look has something to do with that, and he ignores it and tells Sam to have fun. Dean makes pancakes, because Cas loves pancakes. They’re soft and Cas has a weird thing about food textures. But after Cas pushes his stack away after only a few bites and murmurs, “I don’t feel very hungry,” Dean actually _looks_ at him and realizes Cas is pale and clammy-looking and is supporting his head on his hand against the table.

“Cas, are you sick?” Dean asks.

“No.” Cas answers automatically. Then he pauses and tilts his head to the side. “I don’t know. What does it feel like?”

Dean reaches out and feels Cas’s forehead. “Yeah, feels like you’ve got a fever, buddy.”

“What kind?”

“Uh…”

“Should I go into quarantine? I know the human race has become increasingly hygienic, and it’s contributed to your lower mortality rates from communicable diseases, but if we don’t know what kind of fever it is I should probably—”

“Not like an old timey fever.” Dean cuts Cas off. “Just…your body heating up to kill germs.”

“Oh.” Cas sags a little. “So I’m not going to die?” He looks very young and Dean has to work hard not to smile at how big his eyes are.

“Not today.” Dean promises. “Does your throat hurt?”

“ _Yes_.” Cas says emphatically, grimacing.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dean grumbles.

“I didn’t know if it was normal.” Cas admits.

“Look, from now on, when something hurts, you have to tell me, okay? And I’ll let you know if it’s normal or not.”

“Okay.” Cas agrees solemnly. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“My throat hurts.” Cas thinks he’s hilarious. He cracks a small, crooked smile. Dean rolls his eyes.

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” He mutters. “Come here to the sink.” He pulls out a glass and fills it with water, mixes in some salt, and hands it to Cas. Cas looks down into the still-swirling liquid, then back up at Dean.

“I don’t want to drink this.” He says seriously. Sam keeps having long conversations with Cas about _wants_ versus _needs_ and _consent_ and other things that make Dean find an exit quickly.

“You don’t drink it; you gargle.” Dean instructs. “Like with the mouth wash.”

“Why?”

“It’ll help your throat. I promise, Cas. I don’t know what does it, but it feels better.” He taps a finger against the glass and Cas raises it to his lips, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He makes a face at the taste but dutifully throws his head back and gargles, then spits and grimaces at Dean.

“Keep going.” Dean orders. “The whole glass.”

Cas grumbles all the way through it but does as instructed. When he’s drained the glass, he clears his throat. “That does feel better.” He admits.

“See? I know what I’m talking about.” He gives Cas two ibuprofen and sends him back to bed with a bottle of water. Dean bustles around the kitchen, making soup. He arranges a bowl of it all on a tray and grabs a spoon and a napkin, then slices up an orange and adds that. Vitamin C, he remembers. He braces the tray against the door and knocks.

“Cas?” He says softly. He gets no response but a quiet whining sound. He gets his eye-roll out of the way outside the door, then pushes it open. Cas is lying on his side, his eyes standing out way more blue than they have any right to be, and he’s burrowed under the covers. He’s frowning so deeply Dean thinks he’s going to sprain something.

“Your face could get stuck like that, you know.” He says as he sets the tray down on the desk.

“No, it couldn’t.” Cas protests. His voice sounds raspy and painful and Dean cringes sympathetically.

“Throat’s bad again?” He asks. Cas shrugs, maybe, but he has so many blankets piled around him Dean’s not entirely sure. “Here, sit up.” Dean instructs, helping Cas up gently. “You need to eat some soup.”

Cas doesn’t complain, because as contrary as he can be sometimes, he bears his burdens stoically. “Thank you, Dean.” He says, and Dean looks down into his face and his heart seizes a little at how grateful Cas looks and because he’s so pale and his hair’s sticking up comically but he’s also kind of sweaty and just looks generally very miserable. He feels the way he did when that ghost had knocked Cas into the wall—angry that Cas can even be susceptible to human maladies, angry that Dean can’t fix it.

Cas eats the soup docilely, obediently eating the whole bowl even though his pace slows to a crawl when he gets halfway. His eyelids are drooping by the time he finishes.

“Hang on, hang on.” Dean makes him eat two orange slices, ignoring the huff Cas makes, and hands him more ibuprofen. “Two swallows of water and then you can sleep.”

Cas tries to cheat and use the drink he’d taken to wash down the meds as part of his two swallows, but Dean raises an eyebrow and Cas makes a face and takes another drink.

“Can I sleep now?” He asks petulantly, and Dean actually laughs a little because Cas sounds so incredibly miffed by the whole experience.

“Yes, you can sleep, you big baby.”

“The internet said rest is the most important part of the healing process.” Cas is muttering as Dean lifts the tray and walks out. “ _Uninterrupted_ rest.”

Dean washes dishes and turns on the TV. He feels restless and he keeps glancing down the hall toward Cas’s room, wondering if Cas is warm enough and if he can sleep and if he’s alright. After half an hour, he gives in and pokes his head into Cas's room. Cas’s eyes are open and his face is screwed up in discomfort.

“What is it?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know.” Cas says. “It just _hurts_.”

“What hurts? Your throat?”

“No…I don’t know. Everything. My skin. My muscles hurt.” He sounds pathetic but also like he is trying very hard not to whine. Dean doesn’t get sick often, but Sam used to, when he was younger and surviving on a diet that consisted mostly of Spaghetti-O’s and cereal, digging up bones in a too-light jacket in drizzling rain and not seeing the sun enough. Dean’s thinking of that little kid, sniffling and miserable, and he blurts out,

“Do you need to cuddle?” Sam, in actuality, had never asked for such a thing. Dean would ty to snuggle up to him when he was sick, but Sam’s the type who didn’t like that when he was sick. Dean, the few times he’d gotten sick, had always felt clingy and melancholy, but he couldn’t remember even one time when someone had cuddled him while he was sick. Maybe his mother had, when he was very small, and that’s where the desire had been born. The closest he’d ever gotten was when he was eleven and gotten the flu at Bobby’s and had woken up at one point to Bobby rubbing gentle circles into his back. Cas regards Dean searchingly, or as searchingly as he can with one side of his head pressed to the bed and blankets pulled up over his ear.

“Won’t you get sick, too?” He asks, and Dean can almost feel the hopefulness Cas is trying so hard not to show. The answer is yes, Cas desperately wants at least a hug, but he knows Dean is more prone to hand on the shoulder than any other kind of touch. Dean hesitates slightly. He probably won’t get sick, but is this really a good idea? Crawling into bed with Cas? And then a weak little cough makes its way out of Cas’s mouth, and the resulting grimace on Cas’s face makes Dean’s heart clench a little as he thinks of the time he’d gotten strep throat when he was seven and had spent almost a week lying on scratchy hotel sheets that smelled of bleach, wanting to cry because he longed so badly for someone to wrap him up in their arms and stroke his hair but unable to say anything because good soldiers suffered silently and he didn’t want to get Sam sick. He knows Cas got the same training—don’t complain, don’t be too needy—and he kicks off his shoes and crosses the room quickly.

“I’ll be fine.” He promises Cas, who is already peeling back the covers and opening his arms plaintively. “No, come here.” Dean crawls into the bed and arranges them so Cas’s head is on his chest. Cas sighs and burrows his nose further into Dean’s neck and Dean’s throat suddenly feels tight. He reaches up and starts winding his fingers through Cas’s thick hair and Cas almost _purrs_. He thinks Cas is asleep when he gives into temptation and drops a kiss onto Cas’s temple.

“What was that?” Cas asks, voice muffled by Dean’s shirt, and Dean winces.

“Checking your temperature again.” He lies.

“You did that with your hand last time.” Cas points out, because Cas is the kind of guy who points out things like that.

“Lips work too.” Dean says stupidly. Cas makes a considering little humming sound and drops the subject, his breath evening out as he finally falls asleep, and even while he sleeps Dean keeps running a hand through his hair, down his neck and across his back, then sweeping back up again, until Dean falls asleep, too.

He wakes up to Cas’s big blue eyes, open now and staring straight at him, and he yelps. “Cas!” He scolds. “Just because you’re human now doesn’t mean it’s okay to watch me sleep. Still creepy.”

“It wasn’t on purpose.” Cas protests. “I couldn’t move.” His voice sounds awful.

“Why not?” Dean asks before he realizes why. Their legs are tangled together and his arms are still wrapped around Cas.

“You wouldn’t let me.” Cas says with a hint of a smirk in his voice. Dean can feel his face heating up.

“Well.” He casts around for something to say and comes up empty. “Lemme get you more medicine for that throat.” He escapes to the kitchen and runs his hands through his hair, trying to figure out the litany of emotions he’s feeling. He can admit to himself—but probably _only_ to himself—that cuddling with Cas is not unpleasant. He brushes away the thought that waking up to Cas is also not unpleasant, creepy staring aside.

It’s dark outside now and Dean feels himself seized with panic as he brings the medicine to Cas. He’s going to make some dinner and then maybe watch some TV and then…if he’s honest with himself, which he tries to do as little as possible, he wants to snuggle in next to Cas again. He decides he won’t unless Cas asks him to. He makes Cas drink more water and eat more orange slices.

“You feeling up to anything more than soup for dinner?” Dean asks. Cas shrugs. “Well, look at the bright side—being sick means you can eat much ice cream as you want.”

“Am I not supposed to normally eat as much ice cream as I want?” Cas asks, a little guiltily. Dean can’t help but laugh a little.

“I guess you were never a kid; parents don’t really let you eat ice cream too much. I mean, _I_ ate ice cream all the time when I was a kid, but apparently normal parents keep that kind of thing under wraps.” Dean shrugs a little. Cas just looks at him for a while, then shrugs again. He starts to get up.

“Whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Dean asks, a hand in the middle of Cas’s chest preventing him from moving any further.

“I need to urinate.” He responds testily. Literally nothing about being a human irritates him as much as going to the bathroom. But after he does his business, he goes to the kitchen instead of straight back to bed, and Dean is about to scold him again.

“I’m sick of being sick.” Cas complains.

“It’s been like eight hours.” Dean points out. “And you spent most of it asleep.”

“How long does this last?”

“I don’t know, couple days.”

“A couple _days_?” Cas is staring at him, open-mouthed in abject horror, and Dean finds himself laughing again. One of his favorite things these days is Cas’s consternation with humanity. Dean had almost wet himself the day Cas had somehow ended up on a Wikipedia entry about genital piercings.

“At least you’re not puking.” Dean tells him. Cas makes the most dramatic face he’s ever made (Sam is a bad influence) and sighs noisily.

“I don’t want to sleep anymore.” He bleats.

They eat spaghetti and Dean makes Cas finish off that orange. They play Go Fish, because Cas hates poker. He has a moral aversion to gambling, he says. Unless they’re hustling someone for money. Dean tires of Go Fish quickly, and Cas is starting to shiver.

“You should take a warm bath.” Dean suggests, shuffling the cards idly. “That always feels good when you’re sick.” So he does, and he even brushes his teeth like a good little boy, and by then he’s fighting hard to keep his eyes open.

"Go to bed, Cas." Dean says. But Cas just sort of stands there, looking at Dean. "What?" 

“Um…nothing. Goodnight.” Cas says quickly, and Dean knows Cas wants him to come but is never going to ask. Dean goes through his nighttime routine slowly, trying to keep his mind blank. He’s not very successful. He thinks of Cas’s blue eyes and Cas’s thick hair and Cas’s stubble and how Cas is sick and probably really cold, and Dean goes to his room and pulls on pajama pants and then goes down the hall to Cas’s room. He stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the way his stomach swoops when Cas lights up at the sight of him.

“You get special privileges when you’re sick.” Dean explains as he gets in Cas’s bed.

“And you think sleeping with you is a special privilege?” Cas asks wryly. Dean stutters a little.

“You’re not—we’re not _sleeping_ together, Cas, Jesus, we’re just...sleeping.”

“I know that.” Cas says. Dean runs a hand through his hair uncomfortably. Maybe this was a bad idea. He’s about to say as much when Cas rolls over to drop his head onto Dean’s chest, one hand going up to rub idly at Dean’s earlobe, and where did Cas learn _that_? Dean doesn’t say anything about it, in case acknowledging it makes Cas stop, and though he’d taken a nap earlier they both fall asleep quickly.

Sam gets back two afternoons later, and Cas is pretty much completely better.

“I got sick while you were gone.” He tells Sam gravely, and Dean laughs because Cas sounds like it was a matter of life and death instead of a sore throat.

“Aw, that sucks man, I’m sorry.” Sam responds, face screwing up in sympathy. “That’s the first time you’ve gotten sick, right?”

Cas nods. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” He admits.

“Really?” Sam sounds surprised. Cas has a tendency to be a grump about the whole physical part of the human experience, so Sam and Dean had been dreading any sickness or injuries.

“Dean is a very good caretaker.” Cas says. Sam laughs a little, but his smile is soft.

“He really is.” Sam agrees. Dean can feel himself blushing.

“Alright, alright.” He says. “Next you guys are gonna talk tampons.”

“We do not require feminine hygiene products.” The wrinkle between Cas’s eyebrows makes Dean laugh again. “Oh, I see. You felt uncomfortable with us praising you and resorted to sexist language to deflect attention.”

Sam laughs so hard he chokes and Dean doesn’t even pound on his back to help him out. Things go back to normal: Sam talks about the library way too excitedly, Dean makes fun of him, and Cas asks weird questions. They decide to watch a movie, and when Dean shivers slightly and pulls a blanket into his lap, Cas frowns. He leans over and _kisses Dean’s temple_. Sam’s eyes go so wide they’re in danger of coming out of his head.

“Cas?” Dean asks, and his voice is definitely _not_ the least bit breathless.

“I was checking your temperature.” Cas says innocently. “The way you did when we were cuddling in my bed.”

Sam is looking back and forth between them with his eyes still ridiculously wide, a huge grin splitting his face, and Cas’s face is arranged far too carefully for his neutral expression to be genuine. Cas, Dean decides, knows exactly what he’s doing and is pure evil.

It doesn’t stop Dean from pretending he’s coming down with something to get Cas to sleep in his bed with him.


End file.
